Cold Dark Night
by Appassionata
Summary: SLASH. Haleth (the boy Aragorn meets in The Two Towers) and a companion on a cold, dark night.


The night was dark, cold and still...unusually calm, ironically so as it was the eve before a battle. Haleth, son of Hama, young warrior of Rohan who had already fought in Helm's Deep, was preparing for the battle of Pellenor Fields by spending the cold night sleeping.  
Abruptly he woke up, startled, and looked for what had woken him. He shared his tent with one other of his age, and he realized – the other boy was shivering in his sleep, his teeth chattering. His blanket had managed to fall to the side, completely off his body, and the sound of his clicking teeth had driven Haleth from his relatively comforting sleep.  
He saw no other option but to replace the blanket. Creeping towards his tentmate, Haleth picked the blanket up and leaned over, gently pulling it over the sleeping form. In the next moment he felt cold steel pressing against his throat, a hand gripping his upper arm.  
"I'm not going to hurt you." He whispered to the boy, staring down into the intensely frightened pale eyes that were fixed on him. Instantly the hold relaxed, and there was the sound of a blade being sheathed.  
"You frightened me." The other boy said, obviously embarrassed about his own reaction.  
"Nothing to be ashamed of..." Haleth said, letting his voice trail off. "Forgive me. I have yet to introduce myself...I am Haleth, son of Hama, of Rohan."  
The dark-haired boy clasped Haleth's hand briefly and Haleth had to fight not to draw his hand back. The boy's hand was colder than his own! "Fiacre, son of Godemar, of Rohan."  
Haleth blinked in surprise, leaning forward to peer into Fiacre's eyes. "Rohan? I would've taken you for a man of Gondor, even in this light." He murmured, shaking his head.  
Fiacre blushed again, or at least Haleth assumed he did, and turned away. "Yes...I suppose I don't look like any of the Rohirrim..." He said, referring to his own pale gray eyes and dark black hair. When Haleth had seen him earlier, he'd been reminded very slightly of Aragorn – though there was more fear in Fiacre's eyes than he'd ever seen in Aragorn's.  
"Fiacre..." Haleth began warily, raising one unsteady, cool hand to place it on Fiacre's thin shoulder.  
"Yes?" Fiacre responded after a moment, gray eyes flicking up to meet Haleth's gaze, shadows darting in the darkness.  
"I have seen...there are things that warriors...they relieve tension and you'll be able to sleep and you'll be warm..."  
"What are you trying to say, Haleth?"  
Fiacre received his answer in the form of an unpracticed kiss, pressed against his lips abruptly, with too much force at first, so much that it startled Fiacre he ended up on his back under the slightly heavier Haleth, who immediately drew back and started to make an apology.  
"Shh." Fiacre said, abruptly stopping the apology before it could begin.  
Haleth looked confused for a few moments, but reasserted his position, making sure his hand was firmly braced on Fiacre's shoulder before he tried kissing him again. The two drew back when their teeth clicked together, resulting in slight pain on both of their parts.  
"Haleth..." Fiacre panted, turning his head so Haleth couldn't try to kiss him again while he was talking. "I don't think..."  
But Haleth was too fast for Fiacre. He leaned around, adjusting to the awkward position, and kissed the smaller boy again, only this time everything went right – he didn't push Fiacre over, nor did their teeth clash...it was a simple, chaste kiss. As Haleth pulled back, he saw a shiver run through Fiacre's frame.  
"Ah." Fiacre licked his lips, tasting the wine Haleth had drunk, smelling the smoke from the camp's fire in Haleth's hair. "Aha. This is what soldiers do, then, to...keep warm?"  
"...to a point, yes."  
"Well..." The question died on Fiacre's lips and his cheeks turned pink with embarrassment and shyness, a trait that Haleth found oddly endearing. "...what else do they do?"  
One of Haleth's hands twitched, fingers curling and straightening before it slowly traveled down, down over the heavy, coarse fabric of Fiacre's tunic, resting on his belt. Haleth's blue eyes glimmered faintly as he looked to Fiacre for permission.  
"What are you doing?" Fiacre whispered faintly, pale brow creasing in a wary frown.  
"Keeping you warm." 


End file.
